Melodies With No Sound
by Barcavolio
Summary: A piano played in the middle of the night has to be played by someone, but it wasn't. It was because Sweeney hears the music that no one else can hear.


I remember thinking of this when I was really tired early one morning. I was thinking about why Mrs Lovett has a never-played piano on her parlour, and about the line in "The Ballad of Sweeney Todd", _"Sweeney hears the music that no one else can hear."_ I came up with this.

Disclaimer: How can you own a person? Slavery was abolished in the 1830s! Oh, and the italicized quote at the beginning is taken from the sleeve notes for Emilie Autumn's album _Enchant_, so I don't own that either.

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_I have never taken a piano lesson in my life… but I was born with a keyboard in my brain… I see in notes… and it drives me mad…_

The rain had been hammering down on the windows for hours, but it was slowly fading away. Sweeney Todd lay awake on his pallet, black eyes staring at the cracked plaster of the ceiling. The constant rhythm of rain should have helped him sleep, but it didn't. He was as wide awake as he had been four hours ago. Sleep just didn't come.

He noticed that the rain had eased off; there was just the static hum of the air around him. Then another sound rose up; the piano, playing some slow, deep notes. They thrummed through everything else, so close they had to come from downstairs.

_What the hell is Mrs Lovett doing playing the piano at four in the morning?_

He sat up, glaring downwards at the floor, hoping that through sheer force of will he could make her stop. What was she even doing at this time anyway? He'd never even seen her touch the piano during the day, let alone at four o'clock in the morning.

No – he had seen her play, if you went back far enough.

***

The parlour was the warmest room in the house that bitter winter day. Nellie had started a fire in the blackened fireplace, which was warming the room comfortably and bringing everyone in the house there.

_Lucy walked over to the imposing, dark wood piano, idly picking out a scale on the ivory keys. The majestic sound filled the cosy room, and Benjamin closed his eyes, letting his wife's playing wash over him. He himself had never been taught piano, but he occasionally would hesitantly stroke the keys and before too long come up with a tune. Lucy had been trained in piano playing from the age of four, and laughed gently at his attempts to follow her instructions for playing "properly"._

_Ben didn't like playing as instructed. He liked to just let the music find itself._

_Nellie's head snapped up as she heard Lucy launch into a piece._

_"Can you teach me 'ow to play?" she asked. Lucy looked a little startled, but nodded._

_"It takes a long time, though. I was learning for fourteen years."_

_Nellie's eyebrows went up and her brown eyes widened. "That long? Didn't it get borin'?"_

_Lucy laughed. "No, I like playing piano."_

_Nellie shrugged. "Think I'll skip the piano. Sounds a lot like 'ard work."_

_"You should do more of that," Albert commented from his chair, and Nellie rolled her eyes._

_"It also takes patience, which ain't one o' my strong points!"_

_Teaching Nellie piano hadn't been mentioned again, but Ben had seen her play softly at it later that evening. It was a pleasant sound, but she kept looking furtively around as if she expected to get caught and reprimanded._

***

Sweeney pulled on his waistcoat and went quickly and quietly down the stairs. The building was inky black, but he'd lit a candle, and held the small beacon of light ahead of him as he walked over the cold floor and pushed open the parlour door.

There was no one there. The parlour was empty, and the piano lid was closed, but the music still carried on, the long notes now woven through with a melancholic tune that rose and fell, intertwining with the bass notes.

Sweeney shook his head. This shouldn't be happening. There was nowhere else the music could be coming from – it sounded so close – but no one was playing the piano, and the piano wasn't even playing itself.

Not again. He'd had enough of hearing things. His mind had once decided to plague him by making him listen to Purcell's "Rondeau" over and over, until he started seeing the notes of the piece everywhere. It wasn't like having a particular tune stuck in his head, which he could get rid of if he tried. The music in his mind would not leave him alone.

It was a beautiful melody. Mournful, and slightly eerie, but underneath it all the strong, deep bass notes kept on striking.

His hand reached out to the piano, and he lifted up the oaken lid to reveal the keys of ivory and ebony. The white ones glowed in the light, while the black keys seemed to recede.

He saw a pale finger reach slowly out, and press a white key down at the far left of the instrument.

It was that sound – the same sound he'd heard when he first heard the piano in his head tonight. And if it was so easy to find the first note, maybe he'd be able to play the music, and get it out of his mind.

It wasn't like playing the piano. The notes found themselves, and all he had to do was hear himself play it, like it was someone else there. The tune developed beyond the music in his head, until he had no idea whether it was the same melody he'd first heard or something completely different.

Then he suddenly stopped. He couldn't do it any more, because something else had been added. A violin, or something similar, harmonizing to the piano part. Harmonizing beautifully, but fruitlessly.

Mrs Lovett didn't have a violin in her house, and even if she did Sweeney couldn't play both at once. Hell, he couldn't even play the violin.

It had gone, vanished. Now when he tried to think of the tune he couldn't remember a thing.

But why should the piano have to have a violin behind it? It sounded beautiful on its own; it didn't need anything more.

As soon as he decided that, the memory of the piece came flooding back, and the music continued louder than ever. He was about to tell it to quieten down a bit, before realising that no one else but him could actually hear it. No one else ever could

It was a lovely tune, though, and he wished someone else could hear it. It always seemed to be that most of the music he heard stayed in his head, unless he ended up randomly putting words to it and singing it.

The first tune was gone, and another had replaced it. There was rarely a quiet moment in Sweeney's mind.

It was the music of his life.

First of all, it started out as a quiet, slightly sad riff played down the bottom of the instrument. Then it suddenly erupted into a full-blown orchestral melody, which sounded so joyfully happy it made Sweeney's head hurt.

Now… the bass chords crept in, twisting and changing the tune, until it faded away to dark chords. This carried on for a while, until the melody sprang up again – but it was different this time. It had turned minor, more mournful, and only a solitary piano played it. Sweeney automatically joined in, filling the parlour with the miserable tune.

The candle went out.

He was left alone in the darkness. He could see a little from the dim grey light that filtered through the net curtains, and he managed to find the piano notes by instinct. Eventually it had to come to an end, and he stood there in the darkness.

The only sound he could hear now was the sound of his own breathing

* * *

Yes, I know it's a bit weird. But I'd love it if you told me what you thought of it.


End file.
